


The Times, They Are A-Changin'

by La_Llorona



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Always Female Castiel, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Female Castiel/Male Dean Winchester, Future Fic, Genderbending, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Llorona/pseuds/La_Llorona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She fixes him with one of those rare, intense gazes. They always flash him back to the times when she wore a trench coat and a blue tie. When she didn’t understand how to use a phone and wiped out mortals with a single touch to their foreheads.<br/>Thinking on that too much…it hurts his head. Makes him physically sick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(End!Verse fic, where Dean and Castiel go through the motions in their new world. May be a multi-chapter story later on. One-shot for now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Times, They Are A-Changin'

There it is again. “Fearless Leader”—she’s always calling him “Fearless Leader” with this sardonic twist of the lip. Sometimes a wink, as if Dean should know what the fucking punchline is.

She’s telling him he should probably get up now and perform his duty to mankind. “Of course, mankind is a small, tenacious mass of bottom-feeders nowadays, but hey. What’re you gonna do? Am I right?”

Cas’s tongue is thick with booze and tangy blood. Yesterday, they shot up some rogue Croats beyond the chain-link fence line, a little outside Camp Chitaqua, and there wasn’t a split second of hesitation from her. Just a _bang-bang-bang,_ Glad that’s over. Come on. Let’s find some peace of mind back at my cabin.

Stubby grass cracks. Their boots pounded, and the sun shot through their pores. If he wasn’t so busy squinting, Dean would’ve shot Cas some daggers with his eyes. But, nope, he was too busy squinting. And even though he’d grumble, he wouldn’t say no. When you’re sweaty and spattered in somebody else’s sticky insides, there’s no such thing as “no.” The plans were all made for tomorrow. The rations were sorted out. The jeeps were parked in a safe zone.

Nothing left to do but smother himself in dirty sex. There was Cas, and there was some other chick. Wendy. Wendy was her name. They were all tangled, slick legs and chipped nails digging into his back. Their hair was stringy and oily, but Dean wasn’t fucking runway-ready either. Frankly, they all stank. Never enough water to go around. But he pushed harder until they stank like come. At least, Wendy did. Cas never really made it there. Sometimes, he thinks she’s laughing at him in her head. Sometimes it hurts to hear her choke out the word “beautiful,” because he can’t figure out if she’s applying it to him or not. He hopes she isn’t.

It only took a couple hours for Wendy to give up. She doesn’t have as much stamina. Dean watched her through ruddy eyes, pinched with yellowish crust. Some kind of infection. Minor annoyance. Carry on. She wrinkled through the beaded curtain, and it was just the two of them: Dean and Cas. The Two Amigos. The Two Musketeers. They smashed their mouths together for too long, so long that kissing just became a comfortable position, like lying on your side with your hand under the pillow. Spread out on a motel room bed. Sammy on the other one.

Push harder. She was twitching a little. Halfway-wet around his three fingers. It’s never hard to get them all the way up there, since she’s so goddamned active, so incredibly loose.

But Cas took a stupid weed break a couple minutes later, and all Dean could do was take a catnap. Catnaps consisted of shutting his sore eyes and listening to Cas chuckle and mumble to herself. Hear the beads clink against each other. Listen to the low blur of cicadas and the unexplainable creak of the heavy floorboards.

Before, whenever he heard the cabin moaning, he thought it might be a ghost. Watched for flickering lights. He never does that anymore.

All he did was burn into the floor. Waiting for Cas to finish up. Hell, he even drifted into a lazy half-sleep a few times. Progress.

But now Cas’s doing the “Fearless Leader” thing, and he’s pissed. Doesn’t want to get up and doesn’t want to stay down. The hard cot put a knot in his neck, but that’s nothing new. He lets his head loll to the side to see the morning light shift through Cas’s jet-black hair. Crinkle through her eyes, turning them a brighter shade of blue. She already has that beat-up, sagging hippie shirt on, but everything else is bare. Dean half-smiles as she adjusts a little, ‘cause he gets a load of the crack of her ass. Brushes his fingers against it and feels the thin flush of dark hair. She’s not like those busty girls he used to pick up in bars. She never shaves down there. Barely even shaves her legs.

“Patience, grasshopper,” Cas speaks up, all of a sudden. She flops down onto her back with a really loud sigh. Arms folded behind her head. “You’ll just have to await the orgy later today, like everyone else.”

“Gee, thanks, Cas. Good to know I’m ‘everyone else.’”

She fixes him with one of those rare, intense gazes. They always flash him back to the times when she wore a trench coat and a blue tie. When she didn’t understand how to use a phone and wiped out mortals with a single touch to their foreheads.

Thinking on that too much…it hurts his head. Makes him physically sick.

So he doesn’t. Even when she says, “You know what you are, Dean” in a voice that’s similar to her old one. The lilt there.

It’s pretty rare to hear her say _Dean._ Just Dean. He’s kind of happy it’s not said too often. Sam used to say it all the time.

“Hey, get up before Chuck fucks up my mellow vibe,” Cas says, since Dean didn’t fill up the empty air.

“I’m already going,” Dean says, since there’s nothing else to say. The impassive mask fits easily onto his face these days. To the point where it really isn’t a mask anymore. Dean’s skin is molded to it.

He gathers his clothes mechanically and starts shoving them on. Practical shirt. Bulky, olive military jacket. Jeans that’re ripped and not on purpose. A thigh holster he never leaves a room without.

Cas is gracious enough to hand him his boots.

“You’ve gotta relax sometime, man,” she drawls.

“No time.”

The shoelaces feel too thick between his fingers. Feel like chalk.

“I’d getcha a pie if we—y’know. Had any pie left in the world.”

“Cas.”

“Yeeeep.”

“Do me a favor, okay? Just one little favor.”

Dean wrenches the last tie tight and gets to his feet, the room rising to attention around him.

“Yes. Anything.”

“Stop talking about the past. Because guess what? It’s in the past. I don’t wanna hear about your angel club. I don’t wanna hear about burgers at Biggerson’s. And I don’t—under any circumstances—wanna hear his name. That clear?”

Her eyes rove over him in a way that makes him wonder if she’s just completely high right now. Or if she’s being condescending. Or if she’s pitying him. Or if she’s still horny and just denying it.

Either way, all that comes out of her mouth is, “Crystal clear, Captain.”

“Good.”

For a moment, she just keeps looking up at him. As if she’s trying to memorize his—everything. In that exact place, at that exact second, as if it’s freakin’ important.

“And no alliteration,” Dean adds. “Just ‘cause it’s fucking annoying.”

Cas cracks a smile. Laughs a little unnervingly. She used to never laugh, and Dean hasn’t quite gotten used to it.

But he will.

He heads straight to the doorway without a glance back.

“Skip the orgy tonight, Cas. We’re goin’ scouting.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

There’s still that ironic tilt to the words. But there’s some sincerity burrowed nicely near the surface that makes Dean turn around.

She winks at him.

And all Dean can think about is standing on a dark sidewalk one night. One streetlamp illuminating a gorgeous, rumpled angel in men’s office wear.

And there was Dean’s hand on her shoulder. And there was his old voice telling her “Don’t ever change.”

Her face splits into one of those signature grins.

Dean left smiling behind a long time ago, so he just nods. Steps out into the heat. Hears the creak of the walkway, of Cas’s cabin steps underfoot. Going wherever the fuck Fearless Leaders go to die slowly.

 

 

 


End file.
